In hindsight, scholars would point out that there had been plenty of warnings. The aftershocks of the Xetan invasion had weakened the empires ties, after all, and exposed its frailties. Vacuums of power had been left in lands otherwise abandoned by the missing Aelyrian legions and figures arose to fill in those gaps. They had all heard whispers after all that Sherian was no longer a land of corpses but rather rife with the war cries of battle-driven orcs. Arakmat had fallen out of knowledge of Aelyria but not the world, and strange creatures were said to now inhabit what had once been its brilliant capital.
But the empire itself? It continued onward, as it always did, under the machinations of its leaders both quality and otherwise, whether they paid attention or not, as the every day Aelyrian citizen went quietly about their lives. Maybe that, then, was where the true fault lied: that the Aelyrian Empire, despite its many recent upheavals including the loss of its patron goddess and the silence of its imperial head, had contented itself with existing, as if that had been and could be enough, and had buried its head in the sand at the many other forces that also continued to exist contrary to its own.
So it was then on what was expected to be a typical summer day that Aelyria Prime exploded.
There had been warnings, of course, from the extra scuttling activity in the sewers and a conglomeration of shadows, but no one had paid enough heed in enough time. What had once been the grand Academy of Magic was now nothing more than smoldering ruin, sinking into the hole created in the ground below as it steadily disappeared from existence. Many of its staff and students were taken with it and buried into the same darkness that now consumed the campus that they had once called home. Some swore they saw a faint green tint to the flames that consumed wood and brick alike, but all had heard the terrible boom and seen the tragic results.
There was no response from the Insula Coronae. It was, itself, in tatters already and none knew whether the empress herself lived or died. It was whispered that another attack of explosions from beneath had been set under the grounds of the imperial palace, but as usual, there was no word from the bandit-turned-general empress. The skeletal staff that had remained suffered great losses, with only a few survivors left to tell the tale that catastrophe had struck and everything, empress, Aethercrown, and the symbols of imperial power, were now, finally, and completely lost.
Candaceburg, the bread basket of the empire, was besieged almost simultaneously. This, however, was not a matter of explosive fire that had beset Aelyria Prime from beneath, but rather a much more conventional attack. It still stemmed from the underground as streams of fierce Rodenti warriors seemingly materialized from the very shadows, but there were men and dark dwarves and a smattering of other races and factions that had grown discontent with the constant ignorance shown them by the imperial state and meant to take their survival into their own hands by holding the Empire’s hostage.
And so what was left?
Some of the survivors opted to stay in Aelyria Prime as the damage had seemingly been focused on symbols rather than their everyday lives. Some refugees made it to the other provinces, warning that this time, the center of the Imperial government was well and truly obliterated, and that the capital itself was in absolute shambles. The notoriety of magecraft had been shaken, too, as many of its most ancient and reputable scholars perished under what was now perceived to be a strategic attack to provide the required distraction while the true might of the underground forces took and consolidated Candaceburg.
Perhaps, though, that was both the greatest weakness and strength of the Aelyrian people—their ability to survive any tumult without blinking an eye even when the very symbols of their historic figureheads were torn down. Whatever the empire had been, it was no longer, and yet its people continued onward with their existence, shouldering the troubles and pressing forward under the assumption that someone above them may care about the greater implications of politics, war, and everything in between. But for them? Surviving until tomorrow was enough.
But the empire itself? It continued onward, as it always did, under the machinations of its leaders both quality and otherwise, whether they paid attention or not, as the every day Aelyrian citizen went quietly about their lives. Maybe that, then, was where the true fault lied: that the Aelyrian Empire, despite its many recent upheavals including the loss of its patron goddess and the silence of its imperial head, had contented itself with existing, as if that had been and could be enough, and had buried its head in the sand at the many other forces that also continued to exist contrary to its own.
So it was then on what was expected to be a typical summer day that Aelyria Prime exploded.
There had been warnings, of course, from the extra scuttling activity in the sewers and a conglomeration of shadows, but no one had paid enough heed in enough time. What had once been the grand Academy of Magic was now nothing more than smoldering ruin, sinking into the hole created in the ground below as it steadily disappeared from existence. Many of its staff and students were taken with it and buried into the same darkness that now consumed the campus that they had once called home. Some swore they saw a faint green tint to the flames that consumed wood and brick alike, but all had heard the terrible boom and seen the tragic results.
There was no response from the Insula Coronae. It was, itself, in tatters already and none knew whether the empress herself lived or died. It was whispered that another attack of explosions from beneath had been set under the grounds of the imperial palace, but as usual, there was no word from the bandit-turned-general empress. The skeletal staff that had remained suffered great losses, with only a few survivors left to tell the tale that catastrophe had struck and everything, empress, Aethercrown, and the symbols of imperial power, were now, finally, and completely lost.
Candaceburg, the bread basket of the empire, was besieged almost simultaneously. This, however, was not a matter of explosive fire that had beset Aelyria Prime from beneath, but rather a much more conventional attack. It still stemmed from the underground as streams of fierce Rodenti warriors seemingly materialized from the very shadows, but there were men and dark dwarves and a smattering of other races and factions that had grown discontent with the constant ignorance shown them by the imperial state and meant to take their survival into their own hands by holding the Empire’s hostage.
And so what was left?
Some of the survivors opted to stay in Aelyria Prime as the damage had seemingly been focused on symbols rather than their everyday lives. Some refugees made it to the other provinces, warning that this time, the center of the Imperial government was well and truly obliterated, and that the capital itself was in absolute shambles. The notoriety of magecraft had been shaken, too, as many of its most ancient and reputable scholars perished under what was now perceived to be a strategic attack to provide the required distraction while the true might of the underground forces took and consolidated Candaceburg.
Perhaps, though, that was both the greatest weakness and strength of the Aelyrian people—their ability to survive any tumult without blinking an eye even when the very symbols of their historic figureheads were torn down. Whatever the empire had been, it was no longer, and yet its people continued onward with their existence, shouldering the troubles and pressing forward under the assumption that someone above them may care about the greater implications of politics, war, and everything in between. But for them? Surviving until tomorrow was enough.
Last edited: